


One-Night-Stand

by SprinkleSparke



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Brian and Freddie are in Smile, Deacury, Drug Use, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Freddie and John are both kinda assholes, M/M, Modern Era, One Night Stands, Roger and John hate Smile, Romance, Slow Burn, side Maylor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-12 05:11:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19125256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SprinkleSparke/pseuds/SprinkleSparke
Summary: John Deacon doesn't do One-Night-Stands. But when he unexpectedly ends up in bed with Freddie Mercury, his world turns upside down.Or the story where John hates Freddie but ends up slowly falling in love with him. They’re both assholes and they know it.





	1. Happy Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> I am probably crazy for doing two stories at the same time, but I had to get this fic out of my head!  
> Sorry for my English, it’s not my first language and I am still learning how to properly write in English. :)
> 
> Enough talking. Enjoy reading, my loves!

My mother is staring at me. She sits in a small picture frame on the bedside table, with a hairstyle that was modern back then. I throw myself onto my bed and close my eyes. At the same moment my phone starts ringing somewhere on the floor.

"Please be wrongly connected. Just let me lie here and die in peace." That's the truth. I'm being serious. After all, I've just completed a murder shift.

My hand feels for the phone to click the call away. My finger accidentally touches the speaker button. Roger's voice immediately screams through the room.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY! YOU'RE NINETEEN, DEAKY!"

Instead of an answer I just moan.

"Is that you, John?"

"No, it's the sex hotline," I sarcastically say. "For a little money, I'll melt your brain cells. Press one for loving flirting or the two for rough gay sex."

"Since when do you like flirting? You alright?"

I lift my head out of the pillow and lean my upper body over the edge of the bed. The phone is lying in a heap of clothes on the carpet. Roger's photo lights up on the display, right next to my old socks.

"I just got out of the restaurant. A five-year-old threatened to pee on his plate if I didn't get him a lollipop. The parents thought it was _creative_." 

Roger laughs. "Forget your fucking weekend job. Today is your big day!"

I close my eyes. 

"You're right. I get to make a wish on my birthday. I wish for a huge cream cake, where a guy with a gun jumps out and kills me."

"You'd let a stranger kill you? For what do you have friends?"

I suppress a laugh, so that Roger doesn't know he succeeded. Because I know what he's up to.

A month ago I told my friends that I had to work on my birthday and would rather be alone afterwards. They had given each other alarmed looks, as if I had suddenly announced to move to Timbuktu.

I take the phone off the floor and turn on my back.

"True. Friends would forget my birthday if I asked them to."

"True friends have been planning a surprise party for you for weeks, which you probably already know about, because I can't shut my mouth."

"What, really? A party?"

"John!", Roger gets louder. "We meet at ten o'clock in the _Noise_! Loose up a bit, dude. You will have fun and celebrate your birthday!"

I sigh. "Who's playing?"

He hesitates, " _Smile_?"

I take a deep breath to explain to him exactly what I think of that band, but Roger immediately follows: "I know! I know! But _Noise_ is your favourite pub and they only play until midnight. The atmosphere will be great."

"These guys care more about the atmosphere in their pants," I say contemptuously. "You only want to be there because you have a crush on the guitarist, right Rog?"

"We'll meet at ten," Roger begs. "Please tell me you'll show up." I comb my fingers through my hair, there's at least half a litre of frying fat from the kitchen stuck in it. "I need a shower. I'll probably be late."

"Nice! This will be a birthday you'll never forget!"

I hang up and get up. Roger is wrong. I will definitely forget this evening. I will make sure of that. My eyes automatically shoot to the bedside table. But my mother is still frozen. When I look at the picture long enough, her lips move. She whispers words to me, secrets about herself that I don't tell anyone. Sometimes she tells me that I don't have to be so hard on the world.

What does she know? She has been dead for ten years. I take the picture and turn it around.

.

.

The _Noise_ is an unadorned, dark building in the middle of the city. Only the red glow of the name tag let people guess what is hidden in it. _Smile_ are already playing when I arrive. The instruments make the darkened windows tremble. While I queue in line, I check my outfit in the glass door: a black shirt, blue pants and my platform shoes. My long, brown hair is combed for once. I usually don't dress up like that, but hey, I'm the birthday boy!

I show the doorman my ID and throw myself into the crowd. The rush today is enormous. I meander through sweaty bodies and avoid a burn mark from a cigarette on my jacket. The band on the stage plays their soul out of their bodies.

Actually, they don't sound bad. I mean for a uni band.

The singer could easily become a rock star with those vocals and the guitarist is crazy talented. There's only one catch: these guys act like they're something better. The singer is the worst of them all. Although his voice is incredible, everything else is just a show. He always wears these crazy clothes, eyeliner, his long black hair swirls around and and he pretends to own the world. He acts like a Diva who rules the whole club, only to drink beer, champagne or cocktails for hours afterwards and to fuck the first one, that he stumbles in front of his feet.

But by listening to the cheering of the audience, nobody but me seems to mind. I fight my way through to my friends (actually Roger's friends), who populate a table in the corner. It’s a proper distance from the stage. Roger falls around my neck and squeezes me. His blonde hair is shining and his floral shirt is unbuttoned all the way down. His buzzing body in my arms is the first reason to be happy about this evening. He puts a beer in my hand. The others wave at me.

"Drink up, birthday boy!"

As for alcohol, I intend not to drink it regularly. No one, who knows my father is surprised by that. Nevertheless, I sometimes long for those moments when you just need to disappear. Roger suddenly gets a plush bear out of his pocket and puts it on the table in front of me.

"May I introduce you? This is Bear. He's the perfect lover. You can cuddle with him, kiss him and get into bed with him. I won him in a vending machine."

"Does Bear pay for my bill too?"

Roger grins. "No, but you can kick him in the butt. He doesn't hold anything against you. Do you like him?"

"Yes," I sarcastically say. Bear tilts to the side and I grab him before he knocks my drink over. "Should I ask myself, why he's wearing a pink thong?"

"Hey, didn't you a thing with these siblings...Chris?" one of Roger's friends suddenly interrupts. Roger gives him a warning glance. It looks like my ex-boyfriend still has a talent for turning conversations sour. Although, he hasn't been around for months. My decision has been made. I will not let myself be dragged down, neither by my ex-boyfriend nor by women or men who are like him...People who talk about serious relationships and seem to mean something completely different. 

Talking about assholes...My gaze wanders to the stage.

Loud fans give wild applause, as the band has just finished their first set. The singer blows them air kisses and calls them " _lovies"_ and the stupid fans fall almost over one another while trying to climb up the stage. Don't they understand that he only plays with them? 

The plan with the "not much" drinking alcohol...doesn't work out so well. I forget the noise in the background until one of the loudspeakers make that unbearable high pitched sound and I put a finger in my ear. The audience in front of the stage have merged into a single being. Like an animal! Arms resist his hump, it pulsates, breathes, spits a beer can over his heads and splashes liquid onto the torn jeans of the people. The singer casually kicks the can away, probably used to being thrown at with garbage. He has the microphone elegantly in his arms and I expect the usual speech from him, how great the audience was, when they'll perform next time, where you can buy their CD and instead, I get surprised with the news of the evening:

"My dear darlings, before we finish, I need to get something off my chest." The singer wipes his sweaty hair out of his forehead. "The last year with _Smile_ was the absolute dream. An endless party, unfiltered life...many steamy nights."

Whistles come from the crowd.

His gaze falls on his microphone in his hands, which tremble, as if he doesn’t know how it got there. He bites his too big teeth on his lips, which shine white even from a distance, then he breaks his silence: "This is my last song. I quit as the frontman of _Smile_." 

The audience screams and worried whispers go around, but he just takes his microphone, nods to his bandmates and starts singing the last song. Their drummer and bass player are terrible. Me and Rog would have been ten times better.

 _Smile_ is history. A DJ scratches records on the stage now, not talented, but deafening. Roger did his best to persuade me to come dancing, but I didn’t want to. He looks over my shoulder with a worried look and promises to be back right away. For a while I feel good, sitting here alone and having time for my thoughts. Then my drunken brain decides to travel to the past and remind me of why my birthday is so depressing. Great. Roger really means everything to me. But sometimes he doesn't understand me and sometimes I long for more.

The urgent need to find Roger suddenly comes over me, and I stumble off the stool and land on the dance floor and almost fall over. Elbows push into my hips, hands come around my chest, fingers touch my ass. I whirl around and almost fall again. Everything is so fast. I cling to a bar table and close my eyes.

_Damn, I didn't even notice how drunk I am. I need air, fresh air._

The railing in front of the door catches me before I can fall onto the street and make a fool out of myself. I feel how my lungs fill with oxygen. Where's Roger? He usually stays close to me. I raise my head and suddenly stare into the face of the raven-haired singer who leans against the wall and smokes next to me. I snort. This is ridiculous.

"May I stay here? Or do I need permission to be here?", I ask.

The guy ignores me. I sway a little. He gives me a side glance. His eyes are a warm brown. I inconspicuously lean closer to find out if he really wears eye shadow or if my eyes are playing tricks on me. It’s too dark to see. I feel a little angry that he doesn’t answer. He is out of his stage wear, but his coat is still a bit too extravagant for the occasion. At least in my opinion.

"Where are all the boys who usually hang around your neck? Have you broken all their hearts yet?"

He calmly inhales his cigarette before he finally answers. "Oh dear, perhaps it is my heart that has been broken?"

"Really?"

_What am I doing here? If I hadn't been so drunk, I would never have talked to a stranger. And never in a million years to that guy._

"What do you want? Did I do anything?", he finally sighs and let’s his eyes wander all over me. I see a little smirk on the corner of his mouth.

I just laugh. He doesn't say anything, not a word, yet his hand is in front of my face, waving his cigarette. For a second I fight with myself, then I grab it. I should refuse, but one feeling fights for supremacy: curiosity. What do all these boys taste, that is so good about him? I wanna taste him too.

The smoke is clogging my lungs, pressing against my chest from the inside, too heavy to let it go again. I have to cough and tears come into my eyes. "Shit, is there weed in there?"

He smiles slightly. His cheekbones are so sharp. He looks like he's from another world. "Not much," he says with a feminine, dramatic hand gesture.

I don't want to back down, not in front of him. Another drag. This time I keep the smoke inside me. Long enough to feel it go to my head, my thoughts are disorganised and everything is funny. The joint leaves my fingers. His smile suddenly shines brighter than any star in this bitterly cold night. His face expands, my perception gets confused, the world consists only of him. Grey smoke is coming out of his nostrils and intense brown eyes are still stuck on me.

My forehead is on his shoulder and my giggling is seeping away in his sleeve. I am taller than him. Something smells really good about him. I'm going crazy. _Alcohol, John, that’s what’s making you go crazy. And smoking._ I press my drink, which I miraculously still hold in my hand against his chest until he reaches for it.

"How much do I have to drink to make you like me," he breathes into my ear. His words are slurred and seductive. He is just as drunk as I am. I feel a noticeable goose bump under his lips and the atmosphere between us suddenly changes. Everything is funny about this evening. Both of us, out here, a joke. I laugh myself to death.

.

.

 

I don't feel well. Not well at all. My head is vibrating. It's hot under the blanket. I kick free and fall over the edge of a bed where there shouldn't be one. My naked butt falls on a wooden floor. There is no wooden floor in my room. That’s not good.

Okay, 'not good' is the understatement of the year. 

I feel like shit. My head feels like it's stuck between a vice, and my stomach is going like roller coaster in an endless loop. The light hurts my eyes. This room is too bright.

The room looks like a freaking BIBA-shop. Colourful cloths hang everywhere and a strong perfume smell messes with my head. Everything around me is ornate and beautifully made. Lots of papers with sketches are scattered around. Strange garments are laying around my feet, some of them are familiar. Especially the big extravagant coat.

None of that matters. My bladder is about to explode. I need a toilet. Quickly.

A door is open and it turns out to be the way into a small bathroom. I run to the toilet and relieve myself groaning. The world around me is spinning and I deeply breathe in and out, so that I don’t get sick.

I stand with shaky knees in front of the sink and splash cold water onto my face until my skin hurts from it. I briefly look into the mirror and automatically hit my hands over the shirt that I'm wearing. It’s not mine. It’s a yellow shirt. A beaded embroidered shirt to be precise. A terrible hunch rises up inside of me.

I stagger back into the room and pick up my clothes. My black shirt is missing some buttons, which I don't want to think about anymore. I put my clothes on and button up the shirt as good as i can. On the way to the bed, I slip on a used condom, that I quickly shake off my platform shoe. Ew. God...At least we used one. Besides, my ass doesn't hurt. So it must have been me who used the condom...How interesting? Or not. Did we even go that far? I don’t do this! That wasn’t me...I'm just shy Deaky, who doesn’t talk to people. What had come over me last night?!

The guy is lying on his stomach under the blanket, only his hair and a naked arm peak out. I've never had a one-night stand before... _Oh God, oh God. Breathe. I have to breathe._ The singer probably told me his real name last night, but I don't remember. To be exact, I don't remember anything that happened after our third joint in the _Noise_.

Didn't I have a plan? Didn't I want to find Roger? Didn’t I just want to tell the frontman of the band my opinion and leave him ice-cold afterwards? Like he normally does with others? I can only guess what role his bed and my condom played in this grandiose scenario. My strategy sounded more logical when I was drunk.

Maybe I should disappear without a word. I'm sure he wouldn't care. No, let's be honest, he would probably even prefer it. What could be more annoying for someone like him, than people who don't get when they have to leave?

I poke my fingernail into his shoulder. I'm about to cry. _Pull yourself together, goddamn._ He groans, pulls his arm under the blanket and rolls to the other side. His words seep into his pillow, but I understand them. Very clearly:

"Be quiet when you go."

Is he throwing me out?! Tears prickle in my eyes. _Don’t be so pathetic, Deaky_. I would love to kick him out of the bed, but in the end I only kick the mattress. What did I expect? No matter how much I had drank yesterday, I still remember that I knew what I was getting myself into.

I'm just angry. So angry. But why? Because I am usually not the type to do this? Where does the trembling in my hands come from? God, my whole body is shaking. It wasn't my first sex. Also not my first time with a man...well I never went THAT far but still. It wasn't even my first rejection after sex. There is nothing to be disappointed about, nothing at all.

My knee hits against a chest of drawers, I quietly curse and limp further out of the room. It's a big apartment. I walk down the hall. The front door comes into sight, and suddenly I have only one wish: To get out of here as quickly as possible. Away from that night, away from what I probably did. I'm so focused on my goal that I don't see the person until they show up next to me.

"Freddie, could you please keep it down..." 

A tall man with incredibly wild curls looks at me. It's the guitarist from _Smile_. He must be his roommate or even worse, his boyfriend? His gaze wanders up and down on me and his jaw actually falls down. I must look terrible.

"Sorry," I mumble. I sprint past him and reach for the door handle. Before I flee outside, I shout over my shoulder: "Your damn boyfriend or roommate has a sex and drug problem. Maybe you should talk to him about it. He's an asshole."

_What heck is wrong with me?! What happened to gentle, kind John Deacon?_

Yes, that was evil and maybe not fair, but I feel better now. At least until I run down the stairs and stumble a bit, just to throw up into a bush.

Maybe I'm not doing so well after all


	2. I hate my phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets several rather interesting phone calls...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically just phone conversations...but anyways! Enjoy reading and sorry again for any language mistakes.

My father wasn't home when I got to the apartment. He is probably sitting in a bar or shop and squandering money that normal parents save for their children's studies. It's alright with me. That he is not here, I mean. We don't get along very well with each other, to say the least. I only live with him because it's so close to uni and I hardly have any money.

I immediately throw the broken shirt away and fill the tub and lie down in the perhaps too hot water. I feel dirty and all I want to do, is to wash the night off my body. My phone is next to me and almost falls into the bathtub.

"I hate myself and I want to die," I greet Roger on the phone, who has tried to call me several times.

"Shit, John, where have you been?" he yells. Roger never has his voice under control when he's worried. I change my phone to the other hand and stare at the ceiling, where the steam collects and drips back into the bathtub.

My long hair floats in the water and I feel strange. I am silent and Roger is also silent.

"And I thought you didn't like this guy."

"From where..."

"...I know that, John?" Roger sighs.

"Don't you remember? I asked you if you were okay. Which wasn't easy, because his lips were glued to your neck. You made out in the middle of the dance floor! Everyone had to go around you. That was the moment I discovered you. At first, I thought the guy was bothering you. I wanted to smack him, really, my hand was already outstretched, but then I noticed you grabbing his ass. To be on the safe side, I asked you again if you were alright. Your answer turned into moaning because he bit you in the earlobe. The last time I saw you, your legs were wrapped around his hips and his hands were under your shirt. Then I lost sight of you. What has gotten into you?! I never knew, that you’re so...wild."

I don't know. I can't tell him. I don’t even know myself.

"I am possessed by a demon. Possibly from many demons. Doesn't that make you do crazy things?" I try to distract him.

"John! Come on." He sounds angry. "Did you sleep with him?"

I groan.

"Oh God, but you've had sex with a man before, haven't you? Did you use Lube? And a condom?"

I sit up and splash bath water on the floor. "Roger," I say with my teeth clenched. "Yeah, but I've never really...slept with a man like that, if you know what I mean and to answer your other question, I think we did." I annoyingly feel how I am blushing.

"Okay. I didn't think you would like such...flamboyant is the wrong word...dramatic guys? You know there's nothing wrong with that, right? I'm just worried about you...I don't care who was top or bottom either!" I get even redder. In Rogers background a door slams. "Was it at least good?"

Isn't eye rolling another sign of demon possession?

"I don’t remember anything," I resignedly confess.

Silence.

"Rog?

No answer.

"Rog, I hear you breathing."

"How do you know you used a condom if you don't remember anything? Didn't you tell me that he sleeps with a lot of people? Imagine all those sexually transmitted diseases-"

Is it possible to drown yourself in bath water?

"I know it. I saw it. On the floor."

"The condom?"

"Yes."

"Only one?"

"Yes?!"

"So you only had sex once?"

"I have no idea!"

I sink into the water again. I would never have thought to have a conversation like this one. "Okay," Roger finally says and I hear him breathing out. "Everything is going to be alright."

I'd love to believe that.

After another half an hour in the water, I feel like a merman. With my skin wrinkled, I get up and start brushing my hair. My mobile phone vibrates again. "Please don't kill me, but-" Roger's voice comes out of the loudspeaker.

"Rog, not now. I'll call you back," I interrupt him. I click him away and put the phone on the sink. The phone vibrates again. I catch it in the last second before it slides over the edge.

"I'm sitting on the toilet," I lie to tease him off.

"Why are you picking up then?

With horror I realize that it's not Roger's voice. This voice is deeper and has a different accent.

"Who is there?

"Freddie."

"Who?

"Does ' _your friend has a sex and drug problem_ ' ring any bells?" My brush falls out of my hand and rolls under the toilet. "Shit." 

"Indeed."

"How did you get my number?"

I bend forward and feel the floor. It hasn’t been cleaned for some time and my fingers reach areas that remained better untouched. I push against the brush and it just rolls further away.

"From Roger. I got his number from Daniel, if you want to know for sure, darling. He has a class with my bandmate Brian." I am going to kill Roger.

"You're calling three people just to _quote_ me?"

"I'm calling three people to tell you that your exit this morning really sucked."

I laugh in disbelief. His voice becomes quieter, as if he didn't want to be heard. "The one you met in the hallway wasn't my boyfriend, by the way. It was Brian. My roommate and bandmate. He really thinks that I have a sex problem AND a drug problem now. Thank you for that."

My fingers close around the brush and I pull it out under the toilet. A few dust flukes hang on it, which I impatiently blow away. "What are you doing," Freddie asks irritatedly. I don't answer his question. Suddenly images of the most gruesome sexual diseases come into my head. "We definitely used a condom? Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes, I disposed them myself."

"Wait a minute. _Them_? With 'them' you mean _several_?"

"Yes, all three. I'm sure."

Why did I ask? I had only ever slept with two peoplebefore. And now it sounds like, as if yesterday I had become a real freaking sex monster! I don't know what to say to that, so I'm getting ready for a confession instead: "I didn't want to say that to your roommate. I wanted you to hear it."

"Why?" His voice sounds unexpectedly hurt.

"You first have sex with me and then kick me out! You could...at least have said something like: ' _Good morning, we had a one-night stand. It was really nice. Is it okay for you if we leave it at that?'_ "

"Nobody threw you out, dear. You just left."

I switch the phone from one hand to the other, it's already full of my sweat. "You told me to be be quiet! You told me to go! How am I supposed to interpret that?"

He lowers his voice. "I'm sorry. I had a headache..." It's quiet for a while. He sighs, "Doyou want to go out and have a coffee with me?"

I gasp and almost throw up again. That's exactly how it started. With Chris, as well as with Chrissie (apparently I like people with that name). A nice guy or a nice girl who invites me on a date...My reflexes react before my mouth seems to catch up. I hang up in a rush and stare at the display with my heart beating too fast. It stays black.

.

.

A whole week of routine goes by and I almost forgot about Freddie, so busy with work, learning and the occasional bass playing. Okay, _forgetting_ is definitely the wrong word. To be honest, I have his face and his damn smell in my head all the time.

Today was a particularly stressful day. My professor didn't understand my questions and I forgot to go grocery shopping. Sighing, I look for something edible in the small cupboard in the kitchen and find noodles. A little later I sit with the food at the kitchen table. I usually eat in my room, but books and towers of paper piles are on my desk at dizzying heights. I don't have the strength for tidying up there today. A decision I regret abruptly when our apartment door is unlocked. The sound instantly makes me nauseous.

The second weekend in a row where my father doesn’t go to his favourite strip club? He must have gambled all his money away on horse bets or he lost it in a dancer's waistband. I quickly wrap noodles on the fork because I don't know how fast he'll ruin my appetite.

Steps behind me. The fridge door rattles. A beer can hisses. He stops at the stove. Suddenly his hand shoots forward and throws the pot against the wall. The noise rings in my ears.

"Is it too much to ask to cook something for me too? From the food that I pay for?"

With trembling hands I scratch the last bites together and stuff it into my mouth. It no longer tastes good, but I eat all of it. My fathers shadow grows over my rim of the plate. "Are you deaf?"

I jump up and carry the plate to the sink. I regret having washed the dishes. He didn't even deserve that. I want to pass him, but he grabs my shoulder and painfully turns me around. I immediately tear myself away. "Don't touch me!"

I am taller than him, but he is much bigger than me. He gives me a harsh push towards the door. I disappear before I lose my temper. A confrontation would end badly. However, I don't know for which one of us. I run down the hallway and barricade myself in my room. On the bed I feel for the switch for the fairylights that Roger no longer wanted. The lights let my arms shine in a warm light and reality loses its hard edges. I press the back of my head into the pillow and take a deep breath.

For an eternity I just lie there and stare at the ceiling. Until my phone rings in the jacket, which I have hung over the desk chair. I catch a sleeve, pull the chair closer to me and fumble it out of the pocket. My thumb is already hovering over the surface. Then I freeze. I haven’t saved this number to ever dial it. But to warn me. It's Freddie.

Freddie's name flashes and my ring tone hums in a funky melody, but I can't move. It rings for quite a while until it stops. I press on the missed calls. My finger hovers one centimetre above the surface of the glass. A tap would be enough to call him. But what did I want to tell him? What did he want to tell me? So much time has passed in which I have not heard a sound from him.

On the other hand, isn't this the opportunity I've been waiting for? The opportunity to find out what's on the guy's mind? The chance to finally and completely finish with the topic Freddie? And anyway, wouldn't he interpret my ignorance as weakness? I press on call.

"Hi, love." Freddie's voice sounds different than I remember it. Gentle and with a vulnerable undertone that makes the hairs on my forearms stand up. I try to get my voice to sound not interested.

"This is John Deacon. Who called me?"

"Freddie Mercury...Do you remember who I am?" his voice drips with irony.

I don't say anything for a while.

"What do you want?", I finally bring out.

"I don't want to bother you," he finally says. "It is Friday evening. You clearly must be up to something."

"Of course: Sleep."

"No wild parties with intoxicating substances?"

"I only get into bed with strangers on Saturdays," I sarcastically say. 

"Does that mean you don't find me intoxicating?" I can almost see his grin in front of me.

"Only your dope."

"Your directness hurts me, darling."

I laugh. My inner voice hisses at me: _What is wrong with you? Stop flirting with him! This won’t end well, and you know that._

I keep silent again. He will be surprised when he learns that I normally don't talk much.

"Are you still there?" Freddie asks.

"Sorry. What did you say?"

"I wanted to know if you had anything planned for tomorrow. Or do I no longer  count as a stranger?"

 _Holy shit!_ What am I supposed to answer? I get up and almost break all my bones when I stumble over a pair of jeans on the floor. "That... _shit_!..depends."

"On what?"

My front teeth are pressing on my lower lip. "My friends. What they do. Tomorrow." That's a lie. Roger is as good as my only friend that I have.

His breath crackles in my ear. He sounds so close. And I don't know if I dislike it anymore. 

"Your friends can also come to the _devil's kitchen_."

"The _devil's kitchen_? Isn't that the pub next to the old factory building? God, please no bad music again." Blood shoots into my head while I'm still talking. "I...Just forget what I just said."

"Don't worry, you've already made it clear to me what you think of my...former band. You told me several times that our bass player is horrible, but that my voice sounds like angels singing. I was very flattered. You also mentioned three or four times that I would become a star and that you would be a much better bass player."

"Did I?" I squeak.

"You also told me that you actually despise me."

"Oh..."

I hear him grinning. "Don’t worry. Your hands under my shirt and your mouth around my dick comforted me in a way."

I want to die. This is so fucking embarrassing. Again, I don't know what to answer, so I keep silent.

"You don’t need to be ashamed, my dear. I really liked it...a lot...So you will come tomorrow?" My throat is dry. I still get a few words out. "Maybe?"

"I'm looking forward to it."

I quickly hang up. The apartment is quiet, my father has probably left again. Apart from the lights that sparkle in the corners of my eyes, it is dark in the room. For hours I just lie awake in bed and twist my ankles with nervousness.

Why the hell did I do that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do we think of that? :) I really hope you liked this chapter!


	3. Welcome to hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has another interesting night with Freddie. Maybe he won’t forget it this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually don’t write very descriptive smut and it’s a veery short scene, but if it’s not your thing just skip the part marked with a star: *
> 
> The chapter is only a little longer, but I hope you’ll like it! Enjoy.

I experience the shift of my nightmare the next day.

The restaurant is far too crowded and two of my colleagues don't show up, whereupon my boss orders me to work overtime. Unpaid. On the way back to the subway, I fantasize about the biggest food scandal a restaurant has ever seen. I see my boss in front of me, as she climbs the stairs to the court, surrounded by reporters and flashes of photographers. My imagination helps me to get home without going crazy.

Arriving at the apartment, I angrily see that my father is present. He is glued to his chair in front of the TV and sips beer straight out of the can. The soccer game that is yelling out of the TV must be exciting, because he doesn't take time to insult me. I drag myself into the bathroom and look at my reflection. My hair is greasy, hanging over my red cheeks, my eyes are squeezed together. I spend half an hour under a boiling hot shower, with the result that the red stress spots on my skin are no longer visible. But my fingertips are softened and so sensitive that I get a cramp, while I wrap a frayed towel around my body.

I start looking for clean clothes. The closet is empty. It occurs to me that the laundry is hanging on the drying rack in the living room.

I sneak on tiptoes past the armchair, in which my father sits and pluck a black and white striped sweatshirt and trousers from the drying rack. I'm almost outside by the door when the overmotivated voice of the sports commentator breaks it off and advertise noises come into my ears.

I _feel_ my father turning his head and looking at me. And in fact, he opens his mouth at the same moment.

"Why do you have such long hair? Only sluts and faggots have that long hair."

I don't turn around. "Asshole."

"What did you say?!"

"Why don't you have a few more beers? Maybe then you'll actually understand."

He jumps up and throws a beer can at me.

I instinctively keep the clean clothes out of the line of fire and the can collides with the naked skin between my shoulder blades. Cold beer runs over my back.

"Are you crazy?!"

I'd love to grab the drying rack and throw it at him. However, one hand holds the towel over lap and the other presses the laundry against me. Fear tries to slip into my head, but deep inside, a different voice interferes, quietly and dangerously: _Try me. Hurt me. Just give me one good reason and I'll finish it_.

Something of it must be in my expression, because it's enough for him not to go any closer. He burps and turns to the living room table to take another fresh beer. My feet scurry across the hall. The sports reporters voice can be heard again. I lock myself in the room, throw the laundry on the bed and just stand there. Dressed in nothing but a towel, I look into the air. Until my shoulder trembles because of the cold and reminds me to put something on.

It's 9:30 a.m. when I run down our stairwell. My hair is air dried and curls a little at the bottom. The glass of the exit door holds my reflection, and I see a very, very ordinary student. If Freddie expects a styled, naughty groupie, he's in the wrong.

The _devils kitchen_ is the basement of a former factory building from the 19th century. 

During the day, opticians, hairdressers and insurance brokers conduct their business on the upper floors. At night the heart of this creature comes to life. The music pulsates in the masonry and flows through an iron railing directly into my fingertips. My shoes slide over the polished stone steps into the basement, where the smell of smoke and sweaty bodies hits me.

Of course it's officially forbidden to smoke, but this pub has very, very dark niches and a fog machine for camouflage. Many people say that's the only reason why all hell breaks loose here every weekend.

Uni bands play here, who have dreams of a breakthrough and old rockers who know that these dreams will never come true. The lack of talent is compensated with the volume control and if that's not enough, there's a round of beer on the house. I position myself at the bar and order a Coke. It's served at the tables, but you better not expect it when you're really thirsty.

I persuaded Roger to come here.

Perhaps I also mentioned something about this Brian, the guitarist of _Smile_. I don't know why, but something about him seems to interest Roger...even though he won't admit it.

I didn't tell him about Freddie. I also don't even know if he brings Brian or his friends with him. But I needed something to get him here.

Roger comes up to me with his arms crossed. I see that he has made an effort with his outfit and it makes me smile. He orders a beer and leans over to me.

"Where is he?" he hisses at me. I shrug my shoulders.

"Maybe at the dance floor!", I scream back because the terrible rock band has just started playing.

"Do you mind if I-," he points to the dance floor. I shake my head. "You're the best, Deaky," Roger yells and orders me another drink at his expense. Then I'm alone for half an hour. Did Freddie really abandon me?

I order a glass of water. I really don't want to be drunk when he meets me. Suddenly, a glittery clothed body forces itself to the bar.

I spill water on my fingers, I believe my mouth silently falls open at the sight of the devil in person: Freddie Mercury stands beside me in his dazzling splendour.

The spotlights make his skin look even darker, brown eyes mull into darkness and his iris reflects glowing lights. A ghastly drum intro explodes in the room and he bends over to my ear.

"What is it, that tempts you to come here, even though such terrible music is playing?" 

His neck smells of the same perfume I remember; the scent eats through my nose down to my stomach. An animal locked up behind my rips roars: _You got yourself into this, John!_

I try to get security in my voice and fail."I could ask you the same."

He raises his eyebrows at my shy voice, but then a smile creeps up on his lips. "First _Smile_ and then this band?" His breath is hot on my skin. A shiver brings the words into my head. "Sounds like you have a wonderful taste in music, darling."

I swallow dried out air. "I do."

For a few seconds he presses himself against me; his leg between my thighs, his upper body against my chest, his cheekbones on my temple. A shadow passes in the background. Then we drive apart, fast and yet not willing. It is suddenly unbearably hot. His grin burns me alive.

He gets close to me again and presses his mouth through my hair. "Do you want to face your fears?"

I claw my glass. For one crazy moment I think the water in it, is starting to boil. But it's just bubbles, of course, otherwise there's nothing between us. Not even enough room to breathe. He turns his nose to me and his long black hair strokes my cheek. Under the shaved skin shimmers beard growth. Could you feel the stubble, a little rough perhaps, if you glide your lips over it?

"Are we going out?" Freddie's pointing finger slides down my arm, over my wrists and closes around my thumb. He carefully pulls on it. I don't dare to look up. If I'd look into his eyes, he'd make me lose my mind.

Freddie spreads my fingers and holds my hand. I slip out of his grip. He gives me a questioning look, but I push him wordlessly forward. 

We need to get out of here, quickly, before Roger emerges from the haze and sees us together. I'm afraid he won't buy that I don't like this guy anymore. I'm afraid, that I don't believe it myself. On the stairs above I pass Freddie, always two steps at a time.

_What am I doing?_

An emergency exit sign shines in the darkness. The green light attracts me; the idea of fresh air, in which I can finally come to a clear thought again. I push against the door and rattle at the handle. _Locked_!

I whirl around, but Freddie doesn't even look at me. He is standing a few feet behind me, his hand on his hip and he rummages in his black jacket, which has ridiculous golden flowers all over it. I understand now, that his clothing style is not just a stage persona. He is simply himself.

Next to the emergency exit is a narrow staircase, probably a fire escape for the upper offices or an entrance for employees. Freddie sits on the third step and lights a cigarette. A silver lighter snaps under his thumb and the flame lights his face for a few seconds. I can see that he's wearing eyeliner. The devil is gone. Now he is just a ghost in the darkness, a storyteller at a campfire.

The smell of burnt paper tickles my nose. I sit down on the fourth step. It is important to stand above things, isn't that the saying?

The mistake only becomes clear to me, when he turns his head to me. Our eyes are not quite on the same level, but almost. So are our lips.

"This stuff isn't good."

I only say it to fill the silence. The fire of flirtation is extinguished, in the small light of the emergency exit we shrink back to our real size: Two students on a stairwell, sitting a few inches too close to each other and not knowing where to put their hands.

He snorts mockingly. Ash falls on the floor. "You smoke too."

I shrug my shoulders. He's right. "My mother had lung cancer. But what finally killed her was an overdose."

The words close around his body, turning him absolute motionless. I know this reaction. People are afraid that I could collapse and cry about my dead mother. Or even worse: I might want to talk about it. They have no idea how to react. He has suffered enough, I decide after a while. I colour my voice a little brighter and come up with my usual excuse. "But I don't smoke often. It's too expensive."

"Do you miss her?"

Now I freeze. The question hits me unprepared and hangs lead hard on the corners of my mouth.

"I was young. Every dusty photo of her is clearer than my memory."

Freddie gives me a warm look and inhales the smoke of his cigarette. "Do you want to go back in and have a drink?", he asks. 

"I'm staying sober tonight."

A grin forms on his face. And not willingly, I notice that his too big teeth are adorable.

"Are you afraid to do something you'll regret?"

 _What? Getting into bed with a stranger?_

An embarrassing sound comes out of my throat and I put my hands in front of my eyes. "I was so drunk and stoned, I would have made out with an ugly monster!"

"So you're comparing me to an ugly monster?" I drown in his dark eyes and unintentionally lean forward. He also leans towards me m, until I push my back against the step behind me.

"It wasn't meant that way."

"Then don't kiss me, if you don't really want it."

All the pent-up nervousness explodes in my chest. His fragrance envelops me. He tilts his face, touches my mouth, strokes it, so tenderly, until I open my lips by myself. My breathing gets caught in my throat, as if I need to hold it back. His tongue glides over my lips. Darkness falls, thoughts extinguish. 

We kiss. 

For the very first time, in my memory.

We kiss each other.

It fills my body with happiness, delicious and exciting, I get drunk on it. I grab his hair, thick black strands glide through my fingers, again and again. Suddenly a jerk runs through our bodies and our teeth collide. A soft laugh comes from his mouth. My eyes open. I no longer lean against the wall. _He_ does now, on the other side of the stairs.Someone threw him there. That was me, I notice in amazement. His voice swings with pleasure.

"You don't have to go on, dear. I really want to save you from another mistake."

We are alone. On a staircase at night, an exit door is the only light. As soon as I close my eyes, reality loses itself in darkness. This is a dream. And in my dreams I am free.

Instead of answering Freddie Mercury, I kiss him.

No laughter, no joke tears us apart this time. Warmth rises between us, fills me, even my bones, everything in me becomes soft.

My fingers get caught in his hair, fall off, wander back to his belly button. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me towards him. His breath goes faster. Further down I feel mine and his excited hardness through the fabric of our pants. His lips wander to my neck and I have to hold myself back not to moan. He notices this and lets go of me. I automatically pull him back to me.

"Let's go a few steps up," he whispers. The light is too weak to recognise his expression. He looks for something in me, but seems to find no answer. His voice sounds soft and rough at the same time. "I want you."

These words make me shudder. I know exactly what he wants. I thought, I knew what it meant to be aroused, but I was completely wrong. My pulse erases all thoughts that could speak against what we're about to do. Desire grows inside me. A feeling torn in fear and lust, so overwhelming that I could cry in despair.

I'm close to him, my mouth is against his skin and yet I'm not close enough. Not yet.

"I want you too."

He moans at these words and pulls me up. As fast as we can, we go up the stairs.

Between the floors there is a sort of platform with a door. A window shimmers in the darkness. I turn to him and at the same moment he presses me against the ledge. Old-fashioned wooden slats press into my back.

He opens the button of my jeans and pulls the zipper down. His hand gets stuck in the tight fabric before he reaches a spot I would really like. I bite into his shoulder so he can't hear my groan. I push him away from me to get my clothes myself off. Freddie watches everything with hungry eyes.

"Come on," I say and struggle to pull out his sequined, glitter shirt and tight pants. Then we look at each other for a while and suddenly I realize that I have exposed myself to a guy who basically doesn't know me. I hold a bit insecure my arms in front of my body, but any insecurities seep away as Freddie gently takes my arms and puts them around his shoulders. His body presses me to the window glass. I can only hope it's so dark, that passing cars can't see us. His mouth presses against me. He tastes like cigarettes and something so good I can't describe it. So...Freddie.

* I get hot, excitingly hot as Freddie sinks to his knees after an extensive make out session and all of a sudden takes my cock in his mouth. My fingers are looking for something to hold on but I only find the window glass and I can only hope that the music below is so loud that nobody can hear me groaning. The window is fogging up.

Freddie lets go of me and out of reflex my hips come forward again and my eyes open. It almost takes my breath away, as I see him kneeling there and looking up at me with big eyes.

"It's okay, you can take my hair," he lowly says and leads my hands to his head.

Immediately my eyes close again with pleasure, as he teasingly closes his lips only around the tip. He moans as I pull his hair and the vibration makes me shudder.

Shit, Freddie is really, really good at this.

After a while my legs start to shake and I know I won't be able to stand up longer, that I'm close. "F-Freddie," I warn him.

He immediately stops, licks his lips with a satisfying moan and gets up. First I want to protest, but then he attacks my neck and my long fingers close around his cock. Holy shit, it's huge. "Fuck," he moans and drops his head in my neck, as he starts rolling his hips.

"I want you inside me," I whisper into his ear and get a moan in return. "You cheeky little thing," he grins and kisses me on the lips.

"The last time was the other way around," he tells me as he suddenly detaches himself from me and goes to his jacket to pull out a condom and a small tube of lube. He really was prepared, huh?

"Three times." I raise an eyebrow. "Three times you were inside of me and came," he purrs and I blush. "Do you mind?," I ask and pull him back on me.

"Not at all. I like both."

I attack him with kisses and he laughs surprised, but it falls silent when I pull his hands to my ass. My vision gets blurry with pleasure as he rips the condom open and uses the lube. I just drown in the feeling and just his whole being. I close my eyes and give in. First I feel his fingers, warmth, a pressure, unfamiliar, something unpleasant. He pauses. His lips touch me, his tongue slides into my mouth. He kisses me, terribly slowly, I want more, I want everything. My hips press against him. It feels good. I bring us closer, closer and closer, until it doesn't go closer. He adds a second finger and I cling to his back. Fingernails scratch against his skin.

"I'm ready," I say and let my lips wander all over his neck. He nods and then I feel him. At first it's unfamiliar, but then it feels so good that I scream his name and my legs start to tremble. He stops. His iris huge, as he waits for my confirmation.

"Go on," I shakily say. I find myself in his rhythm without controlling it, it happens all naturally by itself. Then my observations disappear, everything becomes blurred in my thoughts. My pulse fires feelings through each of my fibers. I cling to Freddie, trying not to get lost in these feelings.

"Fuck, right there."

"John-," he moans and I know we're both close. I try to open my eyes to look at him, but it's too much. Our voices become louder and our bodies faster. * 

Everything ends in a kiss.

An infinitely long kiss consisting only of the touch of our lips. Filled with a desire for something that I cannot comprehend. In splinter of a second, for a sting of my heart only, it feels...like love.

For a long time, perhaps a too long time...we do nothing but catch our breath. His head is on my shoulder and I can feel his heartbeat. Then Freddie withdraws from me. He turns to the side to removes the condom and slowly gets up. I slide off the ledge and suddenly feel abandoned by his warmth. It takes a while to get used to the feeling, to find myself again. I slip in the shadows of darkness back into my clothes.

_You did it again. Congratulations, Deaky._

I crouch down on the floor and pretend to tie my shoes. 

"Don't forget this, darling."

I force myself to look up. He holds my phone up to me, which must have fallen out of my pocket in the hurry. It floats a few centimetres in front of my face. I grab it and put it away. His facial expression remains hidden in the darkness. 

"Would you like something to drink? It doesn't have to be alcoholic."

Am I only imagining the uncertainty and vulnerability in his voice? Do I interpret the pitch correctly? Is it even possible? Does he force himself to ask me that? Does he think he owes me anything?

I tighten my shoelaces and pull myself up. I notice too late, that he is holding his hand towards me to help me up. Now his hand falls down, unused. Looking at the floor, I push my hands into my pockets and bite my lower lip.

We leave the stairwell without touching or talking. The noise from the pub hits us. Freddie's closeness still tingles inside me, but with every step I fall back into reality.

The stairs that lead down to the _Devil's Kitchen_ appear in front of us. And with them, the thoughts of Roger lurking there in the smoke.

"Um...I have to go to the toilet," I stammer.

"Okay, I'll wai-"

I leave him there and fix my eyes on the toilet door. Two guys lean in the door frame and smoke. I force myself to walk slowly and confidently. With my chin raised, I push past the boys and walk to the mirrors. Only there, I blink back to him.

Freddie is no longer visible from this angle.

My facade collapses and I claw myself to the sink. In the mirror I see eyes wide open, glassy and teary looking at me. My cheeks glow, my lips shine wet, my neck is covered in hickeys. Single hair strands stand off my head as if someone had buried his hands in them in it. I can go through them with my fingers, but they get caught in a thousand knots. I try to tame the strands, without success.

I splash ice-cold water on my skin. The paper towel dispenser is empty, the floor covered with its contents. A roll of toilet paper lies between the sinks. I dry myself and take another look in the mirror.

Shit.

I still look like I just had sex on the stairwell. Either that or a sudden flu attack. Would Roger buy a spontaneous coughing attack from me? I can't face him like that. Especially not with Freddie by my side. Too often, he and I talked about how we despised _Smile_. How I hated the singer.

I have to leave here.

When I exit the toilet, Freddie is no longer where I left him. A feeling breaks out of my chest that I want to describe with relief. But it doesn't feel light, it feels heavy. It pulls me down and turns my shoulders into iron.

I try to see the positive in it. At least I can go downstairs now. Maybe hide in the crowd in front of the stage, until I can blame my appearance on dancing when Roger finds me.

"...fucking hell. What where you thinking?!"

Surprised I look up. A guy with brown hair yells, I sneak past him. Suddenly, a hand behind the guy shoots forward and grabs me by the forearm.

"John." I stare into Freddie's brown eyes. The other guy is so huge, that I didn't notice him.

"Fucking hell, Fred, listen to me!"

The guy is _Smile's_  shitty drummer. I recognise him from their last gig. He hatefully glares at me.

"Are you hanging out with this bitch now? Are you completely mental?"

I don't have to listen to that. I shake Freddie's hand off me and turn around. Of course I'd like to get my jacket that's still in the pub. But for that, I'd have to turn myself in to Roger, and he's trained on my emotional world and sex life like a drug dog. 

A few minutes in the cold won't kill me. I just want to go home. Freddie is standing in front of me so suddenly that I almost run into him. He holds out his wallet and pulls out some bills.

"I promised you something to drink."

"Are you really paying them to fuck you now? Are you that desperate?"

The drummer is at our side again. I ignore him and squeeze myself past Freddie without looking at him.

The need to run is tingling in my feet. Of course I don't do it. I don't run away.Nobody holds me back when I push the door open and cold November air hits my skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn...I hope me writing smut wasn’t that weird! What do you like about the story so far, any favourite moments? 
> 
> Thank you for reading AND recommending this story! I absolutely adore your comments. <3


	4. The moment I should’ve run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets into a really bad situation after he runs away from the club and Freddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, it’s been too long. Sorry for that! But I don’t intend to abandon this story. I have it all planned out. :) At least this chapter is a bit longer than usual.  
> Big trigger warning for real heavy violence! Skip to the star * if you can’t read it!

I stumble across the subway. Even the smell of piss doesn't bother me as long as it gets warmer. The train arrives. Young people rumble out of the wagon and push me. They hold beer cans in their hands and put cigarettes in their mouths, that they are not allowed to light down here. I get in and am happy to leave the noise behind me. Sighing, I fall onto the first free seat.

 

Half an hour. Thirty minutes, and I can finally leave this terrible day behind me. Before that, I have to do something and the thought of it twists my stomach. I have to let Roger know. What should I tell him? I can certainly imagine what he has to think. He certainly knows from Brian that Freddie Mercury showed up, whereupon I disappeared without a trace.

 

And now I'm going home without getting my jacket. No matter how I turn and turn it, it all looks like I ran away. Possibly dissolved in tears and completely devastated. My hands rub over my face.

 

It was just sex.

 

Okay, pretty good sex.

 

I didn't leave because I was hurt, but to get rid of him. And if a tiny part of me should doubt it for a reason, it will dissolve over the weekend. I will personally make that happen.

 

I pull the phone out of my pocket and wipe the screen saver. Three unanswered calls from Roger. I can't call him back, I'm too cowardly for that. One message has to be enough. It takes me ten minutes to formulate it.

 

**I am okay. Mercury got on my nerves. I'm on my way home. Don't worry about it. Please take my jacket with you. John**

 

But hardly thirty seconds later, an answer arrives.

 

**You'll bring me to my grave! What happened? Call me if you want to talk. Anytime. Roger**

 

A second message follows.

 

**PS: I'm sufficiently drunk. If you want me to give Mercury a message and not a nice one, let me know.**

 

I know Roger so well that I can hear his voice and even imagine his face. That puts a smile on my lips and inside me a knot loosens that I didn't know was there. I am thinking of calling him after all. Maybe suggest to meet up with him.

 

The phone vibrates with a new message and my smile slips off my face.

 

**Where are you?**

 

Three words pounding against my chest with two violent heartbeats. The words are from Freddie. I stare at it until the screen saver activates. My exit was not fair to him, I know that. After all, it wasn't him who called me a bitch, it was his friend. His best friend. Wasn't he?

 

If I scratch down all pride and dare to take a closer look, I can see the real reason for my actions: I rejected Freddie before he could do it. But nobody needs to know that. Neither he nor Roger, not even myself. The display lights up.

 

**I am sorry. Dave is an idiot. Are you still here? x**

 

I read it a hundred, no, a thousand times. That messagedoesn't reassure me, doesn't provide clear thoughts. On the contrary, more and more questions push themselves in thick, black letters in front of my eyes.

 

What is he sorry for? That he slept with me? That he only slept once with me tonight? That his best friend is exactly the asshole I thought Freddie would be? _Show me your friends and I'll tell you who you are._

 

The phone rings. Freddie's name flashes on the display and i stop breathing for a second. Another message appears.

 

**At least call me back.**

 

I'm sure he's not used to being rejected. The lesson is hard, but it can't hurt a guy like him. Of course I shouldn't have met him tonight. On the other hand, I might have needed that. It was a way to fill the blackout with pictures, to take away my insecurity. Anyway, now a feeling is spreading inside me that I didn't have before: the certainty that it's better if we never see each other again. That's a good thing.

 

Someone taps my shoulder. Surprised, I look up and discover a woman's face. In a shabby jacket. She holds out the open palm of her hand to me. "Your ticket please, sir."

 

Oh no! That can’t be true. Why today? Today of all days? I have a ticket but it's in my wallet. Which again is in the jacket, which is still in the club. I tell the woman the truth and nothing but the truth and get kicked out at the next stop.

 

.For a moment I play with the idea of waiting until the inspectors drive on, and then get on the next subway. However, fifteen minutes of waiting light up on the scoreboard and my apartment is within the same time walking distance. So I walk the steps up to the surface.

 

Tiny ice crystals glisten on the asphalt. I rub my naked arms and breathe breath clouds on my frozen fingers. I'd love to call Roger to pick me up, but he can't afford a taxi any more than I can. Now I have to clench my teeth and just walk. At worst I fall over my dead feet and freeze my head to the ground.

 

It's after midnight. The streets are deserted. A few car headlights light up occasionally and roar past me. There are hardly any pedestrians on the way, but pubs are still too crowded and the night is too cold. The area in which I live in, is not particularly safe. Someone whistles behind me. "Hey, you! Wait a minute!

 

A guy with cheap gold chains around his neck and brand shoes is running towards me. His hair is closely braided to his head, but he’s white. Hello, racist....I stubbornly go on.

 

"Now stop, come on!" He grabs my arm and I push him away. "Get the fuck away from me!"

He lifts his chin and grins. I smell the alcohol on him. "Oh, come on...You're so alone here. You look like you need a little fun. You look like you have money."

 

I scan the surroundings. No one else nearby. No car. I need at least ten minutes to get to my apartment. I could leave the idiot in the next bar that's still open. Should he not be shaken off there, I alert the police. They should be able to drive me home right away. He extends his hands and wants to touch me again, but I dodge.

 

"Stop. If you don't leave me alone, I'll call the police...or I'll get very angry myself." His grin becomes arrogant.

"I am much stronger than you. If you keep your mouth shut and give me your wallet, nothing will happen to you."

My eyes darken.

"I'm leaving now. Get lost or they'll have to scratch you off the floor."

 

He whistles through his teeth and looks down the street. A few hundred meters away, people shuffle in our direction, which he observes for a moment. Suddenly his hand goes into his pocket, a switchblade appears and he snaps out the blade right in front of my nose.

I back away frightened.

 

"Money. Now."

I raise my hands up and bring distance between us, which he catches up with immediately. "I have nothing with me! That's why I'm walking right now!"

He looks at me from top to bottom. The pedestrians are slowly approaching. "Give me the phone!", he hisses.

 

"Okay!

 

I lift it in a resigned gesture, as he follows the movement with his eyes. He wants to grab it, but just before he catches it, I throw it over his shoulder. He turns to the phone to catch it. The knife sinks forgotten to his side.

 

This is the moment I should run.

That's the moment I go crazy.

 

I kick him in the groin. With all my strength. The thick rubber soles of my boots give him a strong push. The knife slips over the icy ground. That's the second moment I should have run. Of course I am afraid. The fear trembles in my muscles. I don't know why I act or how I act. He suddenly reaches for my ankle and grabs it. I tear myself away with too much strength, my foot loses hold and slips away under me. I crash with my butt on the asphalt and tip over on my back. His weight immediately presses me down.

 

My head hurts like hell. I bring a knee between us and kick him away from me with the strength of my thigh. He builds himself up and tries to throw himself at me again. At the same moment my boot smashes into his face. Blood shoots out of his nose before he tips over. I crawl backwards until I hit a wall. My heart thunders in my chest. Steps chase across the street. In the corner of my eye I register how the pedestrians run at me. I pay little attention to them. My attention is stuck on the idiot who presses his hands on his face and groans.

 

Someone grabs my upper arm and pulls me to my feet. I open my mouth to say something. That the guy attacked me first, that they should call the police or that I can get up alone. I don't have time to figure out what I would have brought out, because at that moment a bang is erasing every thinking. When I open my eyes, the world is upside down. The ground rises vertically at my side. For the splinter of a second I know what is approaching me. I see the shoes flying towards me.

 

I'm not afraid of the pain. I am afraid to die.

*

Something is pressing on my nose. I suck deep air into my lungs. What is my name again?

 

"John..."

Is that my voice? It sounds so deep and echoes strangely as if it were speaking into a metal pipe. There is a pain in my temple and I wish they would finally pull the knife out of my head.

 

...

 

"John?" Freddie is bent over me. Black hair strands fall into his face. He looks like he hasn't combed them for weeks and his eyes have the pinched expression of total fatigue. Behind his midnight black hair a grey morning breaks through the blinds.

 

My thoughts weigh a ton. I try to find a memory that makes sense. Something is wrong with what I see. It's like a living error search-image. I start with the things I know for sure: First of all, my skull pulsates. But there is another feeling, soft and warm on my cheek. Somehow it's connected to Freddie's arm. His hand?

 

"Do you recognize me, darling?" he whispers.

I finally cough and produce noises that turn into words. "You're the greek god?"

The stroke over my cheek freezes. Freddie's eyes widen alarmed. Despite the pain it causes, I can't resist a smile. "No...Mercury like the greek god, you know?"

I let out a dry cough. The strain of saying a whole sentence makes me sink into my pillow.

 

Freddie shakes his head in disbelief. Dried tears are on his oh so sharp cheekbones. A smile floats on his lips. "Are you making fun of me?"

"In my dream...I am allowed to laugh at whoever I want." My eyelids flutter. A cloud of tiredness in my body is wafting. Underneath, deep inside, lurks stunned pain.

 

"I wish this was a dream too, dear."

 

I force my eyes open. Freddie stands beside me. His hand lies still on my collarbone and the warm feeling on my cheek has disappeared. Suddenly the mistake in the picture becomes clear to me. It is him. He shouldn't be there.

 

"What are you doing here?“

 

He turns to me. "They found the phone next to you on the street. You didn't have an ID with you, so only your phone directory remained. My number was probably the last one you ignored yesterday."

 

My memories slowly come back in my mind. First only black and white, then they gain color.A knife blade. Blood, not my own. Colorful sneakers fly through the night. After that everything is erased. What have I forgotten? Suddenly I'm afraid of the answer.

 

"You couldn't have...been there for very long," he informs me. "There wasn't enough blood on the ground for that, they say..." His voice sounds heavy and soft. It’s impossible, that he talks about me. Confused I stare at him. "From your head wound. You were knocked down with something hard, a stone or something. They don't know. Anyway, you have a concussion and..." His expression is rummaging through my face for the right description. "Bruises. I was so scared. Shit, John."

The words leave me cold. They don't feel real. I want to sleep.

 

"You haven't told me yet," I whisper, "why you're here." For an eternity he just looks at me. With every second that underlines his silence, I have the feeling to fade under his eyes until I become someone else. Suddenly life comes to him. A self-confident expression is on his face. He puts his hands on his hips. "Because I simply am."

 

...

 

I wake up in a hospital. Light shines through high windows and reflects on large white walls. To my left there are two beds, one deserted, in the other one an elderly lady with a breathing tube in her nose sits up and greets me quietly. Before I can reply, pain shoots into my temple. I press my lips against each other and gently lower my head back into the pillow. Someone knocks on the door and enters the room, but I don't react until a shadow surrounds my bed.

 

Roger clings to a steaming coffee cup, his blond hair hanging flat on his shoulders and there are shadows under his eyes. He's still wearing the clothes of yesterday evening - was it yesterday?

 

He hesitates for a moment. I know he can't handle such situations well. But then he storms to me. "JOHN!"

The coffee splashes over his fingers, there is fear in his eyes. "You are awake! Does it hurt? What happened? Can you talk?"

 

In fact, my answer is stuck in my throat. Roger interprets the coughing correctly and takes a glass of water from the side table. He forces a hand under the back of my head, supports my neck and lets the fluid flow through my lips.

"I'm a fool... I must have... fallen down a flight of stairs."

"John!" He takes the glass away from me and glares at me.

 

I sigh and regret the movement immediately. A sting shivers over my neck muscles into my head. The past night has broken into a thousand moments that can only be glued together with craziness. I tell him about the idiot. About a knife that flew through the night. Of supposed rescuers who beat me to the ground. What a shitty day, isn't it? First the exhausting working day, then my father showering me me with a can of beer, then the unexpected sex with-

I look up.

 

"How did you know where I was?"

Roger sits down on the edge of the bed, holds his hands in his lap and raises his eyebrows. "You will hardly think it’s possible: Freddie Mercury called me."

So it wasn't a bizarre dream, mixed with memories and logical conclusions. He had really been here. Where is he now?

 

"If there's a reason to kill this guy, spit it out. I drank eight cups of coffee. With extra sugar!

 

"He was here because the hospital called him, not me!"

 

A weak argument, as I can see from Roger's pounding artery on his neck. "And why are they calling _Freddie Mercury_ instead of calling...i don’t know _your best friend_?"

Any statement can and will be used against me. It's time to confess everything. "His number was at the top of my contacts. He tried to reach me shortly before."

 

"Because?

 

"Because...We met in the _devil's kitchen_ , you know that-"

 

"The guy you ran away from because?"

 

"I...wanted to get out of his way?"

 

There are lightning and thunder in Roger's eyes. "Him or _me_?"

 

"Okay, okay! So the ugly truth." I groan defeated, although it hurts. Where is faintingwhen you need it? "I had a sort of meet-up with Freddie there. That's why I wanted to go there. And I was too cowardly to tell you that. You know, because I can't stand Freddie and so on..."

 

"This _and so on_ would interest me more."

 

"It was nothing."

 

"His hair looked as if he had blow-dried it headfirst in the wrong direction. His eyeliner was smeared."

 

He knows. I know his mocking gaze all too well.

 

"I have to let go of my frustration somewhere! The uni stress, my job....my messed up life!

 

"And sex...no, Mercury's body seemed the most suitable for that? You tell me some crap and drag me into a smoky club to dump me and hook up with a guy? The one you've been making fun of since we met? And then, without saying a word, you let yourself get beaten up and get me a phone call that teared my heart apart?"

 

"I'm...I'm sorry...Honestly." I try a conciliatory smile. "I guess I owe you a coffee, huh?" Roger gives me a bone crushing hug. "You owe me a coffee plantage...How are you?"

My smile crumbles, there are suddenly tears in my eyes, so I stretch the smile over my face.

"I'm not good."

 

...

 

According to my doctor's visit, there is not an overlooked knife stuck in my head or a sneaker in my chest. The ribs are only bruised. _It’s no problem Mr. Deacon, that heals by itself._

My body including self-confidence was destroyed, but hey, you have to see the positive! I am still alive! Not that I would complain. In the bathroom of the hospital I make the mistake of looking in the mirror.

 

A zombie stares at me. The hair is greasy and lies over the ugly wound on the head. The temple underneath has taken on iridescent colors. Someone did this to me. Someone overwhelmed me and did this to me, deliberately and with the knowledge that it would hurt me. Badly. Someone saw that I was weak. Someone was right.

 

I fall out of the bathroom and run into the nurses arms. She steers me to the bed and brings me a glass of water that trembles in my hands, as if it could shake off all the horror. That night I wake up. The darkness all around me swallows reality and spits out possibilities that I would smile at during the day: it wouldn't be difficult to find me. Someone could sneak away from the staff to get into my unlocked room to make sure that I never remember a wearer of these sneakers again... With night the dreams come. I wish they would take all my real thoughts with them.

 

My father didn't even call me once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn’t I say it would get heavy? Sorry for that! But how are your guesses of what will happen between Freddie and John now? Thank you all for still reading this and especially for commenting.


	5. My face is a rainbow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets a visit in the hospital.

A fine crack goes through my phone display, but it could have been worse. The colors were already greenish before, and as long as I don't press right on the fracture, the touch function works perfectly. The police gave it to me this morning in a plastic bag after taking the fingerprints. Freddie's name has been staring at me for an hour. No photo is stored over the number, just an anonymous outline on a dark background. My index finger waits until the old ladies I share a room with have moved into the smoking room. Then I touch onto the green button. Why am I calling? I should hang up.

 

"Hello, John."

 

My tongue is overturning. "Hey, it's John." Freddie sounds irritated and amused at the same time. "I know. Are you feeling better?" He does sound worried. Dear God in heaven, let a lightning bolt go into my skull before I make a complete fool of myself!

"Um..." I should have written something down. Something like..., "I wanted to thank you."

"For what?

"For...for calling Roger. Thank you from him too." What nonsense am I rambling? I should press the emergency button and ask the nurse for something. Anything, just to end this conversation quickly.

 

"Do you really think I would have just left you alone?" I can hear a loudspeaker announcement in the background. Where is he? At a train station? His voice echoes. "I can't talk right now, dear..I have something very important to do."

"What?"

He hangs up.

How can he just hang up?!

I want to hurl the phone against the wall on the spot, but then it's guaranteed to be completely screwed. I can't even stand up and walk around angrily. The bruised ribs be damned! I have no choice but to breathe out and let my head sink back into the pillow. That serves me right! I had already known it before! Now it's finally over! Freddie is deleted from all thoughts. I don't think about him anymore.

 

I think...I want to become a lonely shepherd somewhere in the north. In my fantasy a romanticised scene unfolds, in which I sit with a guitar on a meadow under a tree. The door of the room is opened, as I imagine a dog becoming my only friend and me playing thousands of songs to him while I'm herding the sheep. I pretend to be asleep so that nobody comes up with the idea of talking to me.

Someone sits down on the mattress and my eyes snap open. It's Freddie.

 

"I thought you had something important to do!"

"I do." A smile escapes the corner of his mouth before he remembers that he doesn't like to smile with his teeth. He puts a hand in front of his mouth. A sting runs through my heart. He really doesn't have to do that.

"You mean to visit me...?"

He shakes his head regretfully. "No, I wanted to get a coffee at the end of the corridor. Maybe you were on my way...of course because I wanted to visit you!"

"The coffee is great! Roger had ten cups yesterday."

I hide a grin and look at him. I have never seen him in daylight. The white neon light makes Freddie's attractive features stand out even more. For example, I recognize that his long, black hair is a little curly at the bottom, which means that he probably straightens them. His skin shimmers pale, but you can still see his oriental origins, even in the barely apparent accent that escapes his voice every now and then. I want to know where exactly he's from. Of course he wears totally crazy clothes again; a jacket embroidered with a cat (ridiculous) on his sleeve and wide pants, which certainly make him look as if he could float over the ground as he strides. But his gaze is what kills me. His brown eyes, which are directed with complete attention only at me.

 

I dedicate my attention to the blanket so that I no longer have to look at him.

 

"When will you get out of here," he asks.

"In a day or two. They're still watching me. Something with a blood clot."

"Yes, you really don't look very good."

"Thank you, very nice."

"If this spot turns green," he hesitantly taps my cheek and I instinctively flinch back, "We have a complete color circle in your face. Including complementary colors."

"Artists from all over the world will come to admire me," I add.

"Oh, they will, and I know that they will, because I'm an art student, you know?"

I didn't know that. It fits somehow.

He smiles. I smile. When I realize what I'm doing, I look out of the window and drum with my fingers on the blanket.

 

"How are _you_?", he asks again, more serious.

"They haven't caught the attackers yet. Although I described one of them down to the last hair and I maybe even broke his nose. The police said such people have their own contacts, including private doctors. He probably disappears until grass grows over the matter."

"And how do you feel?"

"I don't know. Angry maybe. Indifferent?" I don't know.

A gentle look comes onto Freddie's face and he looks guilty. "Nobody messes with you, do they?"

"Obviously, they do." I point to my head and it makes him give me a sad smile.

 

It's unpleasant for me to just lie there, unable to even be face to face with him. In order to be able to look at Freddie, I have to lift my head, and the effort hurts my neck muscles. I blindly feel for the control for the backrest, which is somewhere on the right side of the bed, but Freddie bends over and finds the button first. A buzz goes through the bedstead and my upper body is slowly erected. An obligatory _thank you_ is on my lips before I realize that Freddie makes no effort to back away. We get inexorably closer.

"Freddie."

"What?"

"Um, I haven't had a shower in two days."

He grins and flutters his eyelashes dramatically. "You shouldn't brag about that, darling."

"I smell like a dirty street, greasy hair and sweat." Only thirty centimetres separate us. "On the other hand, you're probably used to stuff like this. After all, you're in a rock band."

His smile becomes megalomaniac. "Well, I do like dirty men."

Ten centimeters.

My back of the head presses itself into the pillow.

Eight centimeters.

I hold my breath.

Five. Four. Three...The backrest stops.

 

Freddie backs away and laughs. "You should've seen your face! If that wasn't anticipation! And now it turns red like a tomato. How sweet! You’re cute."

"Shut up!"

"You're really adorable, love."

"Stop it!" His words twist my stomach. I concentrate on the wall behind him and try to pump excess blood out of my cheeks.

"Can you get up?", he asks.

"For what?"

"I want to invite you to the cafeteria."

"I don't know..."

"Shall I get you something?"

 

Why does he want to invite me? Does he have a guilty conscience? Does he perhaps think he has to make amends? Does he think he took advantage of me? _Has_ he taken advantage of me?

"I did come, you know," I defend myself. His jaw falls down. "What?!"

I fold my arms in front of my chest and try to preserve my dignity. "We both have come several times. You don't owe me anything, okay?"

 

Freddie still stares at me in disbelief and then he starts laughing until _he_ turns red. "Oh God, John. I know very well, that you came and believe me, I thought it was incredible, but that's not why I'm here!"

"Then why?"

His shoulders are coming up and his smile is immediately wiped from his face. He suddenly seems nervous. "Just because I am."

 

No bad conscience then? He can't even have sex in mind, I mean, I'm in a hospital right now. He is probably bored. He seems like someone who quickly gets bored. What time is it? Shouldn't he be sitting somewhere in university? Or play his piano at practice? Wait, didn’t he leave his band?

"Should I go?" he asks and gets up.

"No!", comes out of me in a louder voice than I anticipated and I immediately feel embarrassed. Freddie raises an eyebrow and looks at me with the corners of his mouth up. "Aw, you're blushing again, John darling."

"You're an idiot, Freddie Mercury." That makes him sit down again and as if it were the easiest thing in the world, he puts a hand on my leg.

"I think we skipped pet names and are already on the insults," he purrs. I roll my eyes as far as I can. "You've used pet names from the very beginning, _dear_ ," I say and emphasise on the last word. He grins at me, his teeth still hiding but he wets his lips and winks at me.

"That's all part of the fabulous Freddie Mercury experience, _honey_!"

 

I roll my eyes again, but this time I can't help but feel that it’s rather a fond eye-roll towards him. What is happening? For a moment he looks at me, lost in thought and I look away. It's too much.

"But we definitely skipped a date," he says, and I notice his voice trembling.

"I-"

But before I can say anything, he gets up and walks out of the room. My face is on fire.

 

...

 

After an exuberant midday nap I am woken up by a rustling sound. Roger appears in my field of vision. I blink, yawn and discover a large plastic bag in his hands from which he pulls crackling packaging. He piles up the bags on my bed. "Food wakes him up." Roger's smile is aiming past me. Someone next to me answers.

 

"Darling, is that beer? In the hospital?"

"This here is an extraordinary thing I recently discovered...it's malt beer! Alcohol-free." Roger hoists a six-bearer onto the bedside table. "I smuggled everything past the nurses."

 

I turn my head and notice that a hand is continuously stroking my hair and that it stops abruptly, as I start moving. My gaze rises and meets Freddie's brown eyes. I suddenly realize that he's only sitting a few inches next to me. My thigh is pressed against his. And that in front of _Roger_! He immediately takes his hand to his side again.

_Holy shit! He had come back!_

"Unfortunately I can't give you anything," Roger adds in a sweet voice. "Because we haven't been introduced yet. Isn't that right, Deaky? _Best friend?_ "

His tone throws me into a pot of boiling water. I turn red through and through, from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair, and there's nothing I can do about it. I clear my throat of sleep and I cough, not looking either of them in the eyes: "I have a concussion and I'm on painkillers. Who the hell are you two anyway?" To be fair, I've never come far with my dry sarcasm.

 

"Don't give me that! I know your weaknesses!" Roger opens a bag and pulls out a cheese sandwich, that he waves around in front of me. "Make your confession, my friend!"

"Am I really being bribed with a sandwich right now?"

"And malt beer!"

I sigh and straighten up a bit to bring distance between myself and Freddie. Why did he come back? Was he kidding me with that date thing? Why was he still here?

 

"Roger, this is Freddie. Freddie, this is Roger. He's very interested in my personal life recently. I don't know why." I grab the sandwich and take a bite so I don't have to talk anymore. I hadn't gotten that much attention since I was little and it made me more anxious than it should have, considering that I was surrounded by my best friend and well, the one I've been hooking with.

 

"Hi, I am not happy to meet you." Roger says coldly and holds a pack of penis gummi bears under Freddie's nose, which he -god knows where- has found and scans his reaction. Did I ever mention that Roger can be a terribly emberrasing friend if he wants to?

Freddie, who had remained silent so far, takes four out of the bag. "I'm not happy to meet you either, but I'm not saying no to a cock." He confidently throws them into his mouth and Roger continues to stare at him brazenly and mumbles: "Fucking hell." He also pushes a penis gummi bear between his lips.

 

The incredible irony of this moment almost kills me as we all continue to eat. They were literally shoving little penis shaped sweets into their mouths. I can never look them in the eyes again. Neither of them. The uncomfortable silence is almost unbearable. Finally, Freddie pulls himself together.

"I have to go." I feel the warmth at my side leaving me. "If I don't smoke a cigarette soon, I'll cry."

"Visiting time will be over soon, too," I confirm.

"See you, John." He vainly plucks at his red velvet jacket, putting his scarf on and goes to the door. Shortly before his hand touches the doorknob, he stops and turns around again. He bends down in a flash and kisses my cheek. Then he disappears faster than I can blink and the door falls into the lock.

 

Roger immediately takes Freddie's place and grabs my collar with both fists and hisses: "I want to know EVERYTHING! What happened between you and this asshole.

I'm considering swallowing some more of the candy and choking so hard that a nurse would have to come, but then I leave it alone.

 

...

 

I've been waiting for Freddie for half an hour and the hall of the hospital fills with hectic faces rushing to the information desk and sinking with hanging shoulders onto the chairs next to me. The plastic chair under my ass is so warm from my sliding around that I expect every minute to melt into it.

Of course I told Freddie to not to pick me up. I just called him so he wouldn't stand in front of an empty hospital bed at some point. I don't know how the rest of the conversation could have happened. Anyway, the doctors discharged me benevolently, as long as I stay at home for the week and make sure I don't lose consciousness. And then suddenly, I had an overly excited Freddie taking me home.

 

The revolving door spits out a young, black-haired man: Freddie. All heads turn to him. You wouldn't overlook him, even if you wanted to. That's how grandiose his entrances feel like. He wears a tight black shirt and has such a big gold glittering belt around his hips that I'm afraid he could blind the doctors with it. He throws his long hair back and takes off his sunglasses. Sunglasses? In the winter?!

I snort, but...Fuck, my knees are getting wobbly and my hands start shaking. I silently pray for my heart to at least calm down a little bit.

I grab the sports bag between my feet, which is filled with borrowed oversized clothes from Roger and carefully walk towards him.

 

What I hadn't expected, was the bone crushing, exaggerated hug he gives me. His expensive smelling perfume, a little too flowery and weirdly spicy, envelops me and I find it difficult to think clearly.

I notice that I am only a tiny bit taller than him with my boots.

"Ouch," I groan. "My ribs."

"Sorry, I forgot. Your face has totally distracted me."

No, that's not a compliment. Sadly, the color circle actually did appear on my skin this morning. The right temple looks ridiculous, in all his rainbow colors from mud-red to lazy-yellow. "Wow", I simply respond and keep quiet. Freddie doesn't seem to mind, because he just takes my arm and leads me out. I feel like he already figured out that I'm not that talkative when I don't want to.

 

A few people lift their heads and now look at me curiously. I almost hear their hidden thoughts. Did that overly flamboyant guy beat his face? Are the gays into something like that these days?

But Freddie doesn't allow himself to be put off. "Shall we?"

Now would be the time where I could just call Roger so he could pick me up, but I don't. Instead, I gather up all my courage and just walk out of the door. Following the singer into uncertainty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I can’t believe it either: Another update! Sorry, that it wasn’t that long or if there were any mistakes.  
> What do you think of this complicated relationship? What did you like, what didn’t you like? Or what do you WANT to happen? I am always excited to read comments. Thank you for reading!


	6. Pizza Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John spends some involuntary, quality time with Freddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a minute! I'm sorry, but I hope you enjoy the small chapter anyways. It’s not much but it’s something.

"I can't believe this," I say as I'm standing in front of the car. "You can't drive?"

We strolled towards the parking lot when Freddie told me that he didn't have a driver's license and that his former bandmate Brian would drive us.

"No, i can't. It's my destiny to be driven around, darling. That's what celebrities do and besides, I find learning it horribly complicated..." I just roll my eyes but I don't say anything. Rolling my eyes in the presence of Freddie has become a regular thing.

He holds the back door open for me and suddenly I realize the embarrassing encounter I had with Brian at Freddie’s and my first One Night Stand. Shit.

I carefully climb on the back seat and give the curly head a nod. Brian doesn't even pay attention to me. Great.

"That was the last time, Freddie," he says in a dark voice before he turns the key.

"Yes, yes...just shut up," Freddie scoffs and sits next to me.

 

The whole ride nobody talks and I appreciate it, because my head had started pounding again. Why was I the one who had to get beat up?

"You can throw me out there...in the front at that street corner."

"Do you live there?", comes monotonously from Brian. "Yes," I say in the same tone, as he hits the brake. "Thank you for the ride," I mumble and don't look at Freddie, who is about to unbuckle his seatbelt. I flee out of the car and of course Freddie gets out in seconds as well. "What are you doing?" I desperately ask, as Brian leaves the street faster than allowed. "Accompany you in, of course, what do you think!" There's no point in sending him away, I think, and silently pull out my key.

Panting, I cling to the stone railing and wait until the stairs stop turning. Jesus. How would I go to uni or work?! Freddie wordlessly pulls the sports bag from my shoulders and continues walking. I appreciate him for not making a remark. Crumpled, I trot after him up to the fifth floor. I deliberately clatter for a long time with the keys in the lock. Since my father is a shift worker in a can factory, I never know exactly when he'll show up at home. I want to lure him to the door with the noise, to give me an excuse not to have to invite Freddie in.

Of course he's not there. I enter the apartment with my eyes lowered. That I am ashamed is the understatement of the century. I feel exposed and humiliated. It smells of stale air. On the chest of drawers there are piles of advertising leaflets and hundreds of closed letters. My father only opens the last reminders. I would love to push Freddie out of the door again.

 

"I live with my father because I can't afford anything else. We don't have that many guests", I begin to ramble, feeling ridiculous. "Okay, we never have guests. It's ugly and messy. I'm sorry."

"I've seen worse," Freddie simply replies. He puts his hands on his hips, with mild interest he turns his head around and finally stops, as he sees my, I suppose, extremely disbelieving gaze. He shrugs his shoulders and smiles provocatively. I notice how he makes an effort not to show his teeth. "Our current band room is a windowless garage with a moldy water damage on the ceiling. In some of the old egg cartons, which make the walls soundproof, are still some egg shells."

"Which explains the oh so great bass sound of your band..." I quietly say, rather for myself. For a moment he looks at me in amazement, then he starts laughing. His upper body is bent forward and his dark hair falls over his eyes. I only see a laughing mouth. My stomach is getting quite dull. I quickly turn away and unlock my bedroom. I stumble to the bed to turn the Christmas lights on. In their glow, the dirty laundry on the floor turns into indefinable piles. A curious expression appears on Freddie's face. He looks at the walls with my old Hendrix posters and squeaks in happiness. "I ADORE Hendrix!"

"Of course you do."

He sits down on my mattress. The duvet is crumpled and the pillow lies flaccid in the corner. I fall to my desk and open the window behind it. Clear November air sloshes in, mixed with the hum of the evening traffic and the smell of frost. Taking a deep breath, I lean back. Suddenly a pile of books on the table start to tremble. My fingers reflexively shoot around the notebooks and university books, but an avalanche breaks out and everything falls to the ground. I clean up everything in a flash. This is humiliating.

"That's why."

"Huh?"

"That's why you don't like our sound. You play yourself," Freddie says almost lovingly and gently, which I'm not used of him at all. "You’re passionate about music." He points to my bass in the corner, which stands next to the chaos of metal and screws, which would hopefully be my future amplifier...If I had time to work on it. Yeah, I really do like electrical engineering and actually studying it.

"Yes, I play." I say and look around the room one last time, to see if I could clean something or if I would need to hide something, but it's no use. I sink onto my bed. With my shoulders hanging, I sigh. The impact make my ribs hurt uncomfortably. "It was your decision to come here," I sigh again. "I tried to stop you."

Freddie is getting closer. His hand finds a strand of hair hanging in my face and twirls it around his index finger. I freeze and at the same time I'm grateful that the nurse allowed me to take a shower this morning. Even if only with shampoo that smelled of disinfectant.

"I'm not here for the apartment," he whispers. The strand of hair jumps from his finger and falls back onto my cheek. He puts it behind my ear and follows it with his gaze. His mouth opens. Warm breath comes onto my lips. He closes the gap between us.

The room door flies open.

I shoot up from the bed and stand in front of Freddie. To cover his view from the door or to protect Freddie from it, I don't know yet.

It’s my father. His sweaty figure fills the door frame. Grey eyes glow in his stubbly face. "Shouldn't you be in the hospital?"

So Roger called my father yesterday. I owe him dinner. Twenty dinners. "What are you doing here?" He leans past me and stretches out his finger to Freddie. My father looks at Freddie with disgust in his face. I want to cover Freddie from his dirty eyes. "Looks like a fucking faggot. Of course...I swear, if you get my son to wear this stuff or turn him into a faggot too, I’ll break your bones."

How could I forget to lock my door up?!

I knock his hand down. "Leave." He loos at my bruises with satisfaction, but retreats into the hallway. "Apparently they didn't hit you hard enough on the mouth."

I slam the door shut and lock it twice. My pulse thunders in my throat. I wait for insults, but it remains silent. Finally, I hear the squeaking of the kitchen door and gasp for air.

"Was that...your father?" Freddie is completely frozen on the bed. His wide open eyes make him look younger. Fuck. "Is he...always like that?" I breathe out heavily. "I'm sorry he said that to you. It's not true."

"I know."

My head turns to the window. It got cold in the room. "My parents were never..." I don't know how to continue. "As soon as I have more money I'll move away. I can hardly wait for the day when this...this person finally disappears from my life."

For a moment there is silence.

Then he says: "We can go to my place."

I shake my head. "My ribs hurt. It wouldn't be very pleasant to have sex." Freddie gets up in a flash.

He stretches out his arms, but he makes no attempt to touch me. I don't even manage to look him in the eyes. "John...We don't have to sleep together. We can get pizza, what do you think?" He's getting closer. My nose almost touches his. "You can even tell me how bad I am when I practice on my keyboard."

Too late, I bite my lower lip. A tiny little smile pulls the corner of my mouth up and finally I look into his eyes that sparkle through a smile.

...

We take the subway. I notice with amusement, that Freddie hates public transport. Every time the woman next to us coughs, he wrinkles his nose. A girl next to me who seems slightly drunk smiles at me with her smudgy makeup and jingling jewellery. She’s cute but I just smile back awkwardly. We arrive at our stop and to my surprise, Freddie gives the girl an evil glare and gently puts his arm around my hips. I carefully free myself from his grip and look at him questioningly. 

"God, she almost threw herself onto you! She would have asked for your number!"

"Can't I give her my number?"

Freddie's lips pull together in a straight line and I almost have to laugh. What did he want to tell me with this? After all, I'm certainly not his only booty call, if you can call it that. I am almost sure of it.

"You like women too?," he asks uncertainly. There it was.

I nod and watch his reaction. It doesn't seem as if he was disgusted with me. I had worse encounters after telling people that I swing both ways...His gaze only leads into the distance, as if he was deeply lost in thought. "That’s good or you," he finally says in a trembling voice. "I tried it, too, but it didn't work."

Before I can react, we abruptly stop in front of Freddie's door, which I recognize from our first time...having sex. Blood rises into my head as I remember.

Freddie's apartment isn't as messy as mine, but he has shoes and jackets everywhere in the hallway. "Brian doesn't seem to be at home. He's probably at your little annoying blondes place. Isn’t it weird how they seem to like each other?."

"Roger's not little and annoyi— "

Freddie gives me a look.

"Okay, you're right." I follow him into his room. We already ordered the pizza on the way here, so it should be right here. There are paper sheets and sketches all over Freddie's room. His trash can is already overflowing with paper. I recognize several designs of jackets, skirts and dresses, while the notes on and around his keyboard look more like song lyrics. "Don't pay any attention to that, darling. That was part of my uni project. We had to design a clothing line, which...You know, it doesn’t really matter.",he casually says.

Over his Victorian bed hangs a huge poster of a woman I don't recognise. She is holding her hands in front of her chest in a dramatic pose. In addition, fabric and scarves are hanging everywhere, velvet cushions are scattered around and there are strange decorative pieces that could have come directly out ofthe 70s. It hasn’t much changed from the last time I was here. I can't resist a snorting laugh. It’s so him.

 

Freddie sits cross-legged on the floor and starts rolling a cigarette. "Brian hates it when I smoke, but I really don't do it that often." I sit with him. "And my parents would probably look at me with even more disappointment. They are Parsi, like me of course, but strictly religious, you know." He mentions it casually, but I hear the change in his voice. I watch his concentrated gaze, and the not well rolled cigarette and almost have to grin, but only almost. I still don't know what I'm doing here and why he's getting involved with whatever this is.

"Will you give me one too?"

"I thought smoking wasn't good? Didn't you tell me that, little Deaky? If you don't smoke a lot generally, then you'd better not. It can quickly get out of control."

"Now YOU sound like a strict mother...Can’t you just stop smoking?" Freddie looks at the cigarette and says nothing. Instead, he takes a deep breath. The way he frowns tells me he's suppressing a cough. Suddenly he gets up, opens the window and sits down on the windowsill. I sit opposite him. Our knees touch, as I pull my leg up to balance myself better. My ribs only hurt a little. The air tickles cold and damp on my naked forearms.

"Well, your parents...", I begin.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"But-"

"Does your father hit you?"

"W-what?!", my upper body folds forward and my eyebrows shoot up. Freddie blows cigarette smoke into my face. "I could punch one into him if you want. I used to box a long time ago, but in the long run it doesn't help. Such pigs don't stop until they really bleed."

"No!", I jump off the ledge, run to the bed and whirl around. "What makes you think he hits me? I am fucking grown up. Do you think I would just let that happen to me?! I would have fought back long ago if he had." I push my long hair out of my face. My hand is shaking in anger, but I didn't get loud, I notice. I don't know how I managed to say that in a calm voice but I'm proud that I did.

 

Freddie snaps the unfinished cigarette out of the window and examines me. He looks ethereal, the way he sits there. I've never met anyone like him before. Like a creature from another universe. "Okay, I believe you." He stands up and walks towards to me. "I can take care of myself, you know," I say angrily.

"Hm, can I believe that?" he says and his lips turn into a crooked smile.

"Of course you can believe that!"

"Your eyes shine like a forest lake, my love," he suddenly says dramatically.

"Freddie!"

He quietly laughs and then we are interrupted by a doorbell. The pizza. Not until Freddie has sent me at least ten air kisses, he hurries past me to pay for our food. I feel guilty for forgetting to take my wallet with me. But as the smell of pizza rises to my nose, I can't deny it. The hospital food was just too gross to not eat this now. We eat silently, with him then and now winking at me whereupon I just roll my eyes. Freddie puts a record on his record player and I have to snort as operatic singing rises into my ears.

 

Freddie looks at me, frowning. "Oh, don't you ever insult the lovely singing of my Montserrat Caballé!"I defensively raise my hands upwards. "Okay, okay!"

Something pulls in my heart asFreddie closes his eyes and starts singing quietly, but full of passion. I wouldn't have thought that the "rock star" who i saw so many times in full, sweaty clubs, who had more hookups than I wanted to think about...would enjoy the opera. His isolated voice sounds angelic. After minutes in which I don't even dare moving, he finally opens his eyes again. Embarrassing silence enters the room as Montserrat sings the last notes out of her body. We both don't know what to say or to do.

"I could really use some shameless distraction, dear. How about this: Let’s go to the cinema?"

"Are you serious?! Now?"

"Alternatively, of course, you could kneel down right now and use your divine tongue to..."

I involuntarily turn red.

"Okay! I choose the film though."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to put my other Deacury story "I Will Find You" on hold until I finish this story to really concentrate on each story. I hope you liked it and I always, always love your compliments and discussing theories of what might happen or the characters with you all. Love from me x


	7. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is confused about what Freddie and John actually are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this messy, but at least a little longer chapter!

I jump off the bus and end up in a puddle. Rain pours down my hair and seeps through my shirt. Freddie takes off his jacket and holds it over our heads as we run. The headlights of a passing car twitch over his shirt, which sticks due to the rain to his body. I imagine sliding my hands under the fabric and feeling the cold wetness on his skin. My throat gets dry and I wonder what exactly he wanted from my tongue earlier.

An old-fashioned cinema facade shines in the darkness. It's a cheap, local cinema. We walk past broken film posters stuck to the wall and enter through a revolving door. The smell of popcorn strikes me. Freddie shakes out the jacket and I wipe moisture out of my hair. A pale student is waiting for us at the bar. Freddie goes to the cinema programme hanging on the wall.

"We have two choices: French widows in their mid-sixties discovering their lesbian love for each other...Or the fight for survival of guerrilla warriors who are brutally slaughtered by alien creatures...I guess we'll go with the lesbian grandmothers." 

"Are you crazy?" 

Freddie just smiles at me. "The exploration of mature lust is certainly very informative. You could learn something. Experienced fingers that penetrate into realms that have been unsatisfied for decades..."

I roll my eyes for the hundredth time. "You know exactly how good I am with my fingers."

The student in front of us clears his throat. "The movies begin in ten minutes."

"We'll take the guerrillas," I smile.

The cinema hall is already darkened. We rush along the corridor and I realize with horror that this cinema is first of all tiny and secondly has no slant. All rows are at the same height. Which means that the seats Freddie is heading for are likely to provide a back-headed view of the screen. Freddie sits down at the outermost edge and folds down the seat next to it. I bend down to his head: "Let's go further orward...something would be free in the middle."

He pulls me gently onto the seat. "Don't worry, darling. We won't be here long."

I slide back and forth in my seat and sigh. The film begins with a supernova explosion. Freddie stands up silently. He grabs my hand and leads me behind a velvet curtain that I hadn't noticed before. For a few seconds I am completely blind, my shoes bump against steps and I automatically lift my feet. "Careful, there's a chain with a sign on it," Freddie whispers. "What does it say?" A lighter snaps open and Freddie holds the flame in front of the writing. " _Closed for renovation_. It's been there for years, dear." I climb over the chain and notice in astonishment that the stairs end up at another curtain that Freddie holds to my side. I step out.

There is a narrow balcony above the cinema hall. Protective foil crackles on the cushions and a ladder shimmers on the wall. Freddie pushes me into the front row. Someone has pulled the foil from the seats and crumpled it into the corner. "Let me guess. You've lost your virginity here."

Freddie grins. "In a way. I smoked my first joint here. Thank God Dave didn't try to kiss me. I was so high, I would have done it. And believe me, dear. I may be gay, but I'd never kiss him."

Dave...Dave the drummer. Dave, the one called me a bitch. How charming. I really try to concentrate on the movie. There are developed aliens killing humans. Very entertaining, wouldFreddie not be there, beside me. I smell his expensive perfume next to me. The film light flickers on his dark skin. He leans closer to me. "I hate such horribly uncultured movies, but this alien warrior was very lucky...He survived, but his shirt didn't."

"Of course, that's what you notice."

Freddie turns his head to me and grins dirty. One half of his face shines while the other sinks into the shadows. His eyes get caught on me, then his gaze falls on my lips and laughter slowly melts from his face. Everything around me shrinks in the darkness. Sounds lose their meaning. I can see his eyelashes falling onto his cheeks before we touch. He kisses me so deeply that all I feel is his heartbeat. The way he holds me is incredibly strong yet so gentle.

"Can you please go? Now?"

A flashlight flashes into my eyes and I hold an arm in front of my forehead. There is the guy who sold us the tickets. In the background the credits run across the screen and there are no other visitors left. Fucking hell, we've made out the whole movie like some horny teens. Freddie and I run out of the cinema and our hands find themselves. It is so hard to lift my head and look at him, because then I would have to smile and a feeling in my chest, tells me it would be too late...too late to get away with it. We call a taxi and I only think for a second about Freddie's money before our lips find each other again and a car splashes water on our pants. We kiss in the back seat without buckling up. We kiss in the rain in front of his house, although he already holds the key in his hand. In wet clothes we sneak into his room and kiss on the bed until we freeze and crawl under the blanket and kiss there.

...

I love freshly washed bedsheets. In my dreams it smells like bright daisies and yellow daffodils, even though I've never really smelled those flowers before. And there is something else...Pictures drip into my thoughts, memories emerge. The pillow on which I lie smells like...My eyes open.

I get myself up. Pain eats through my chest and I press my hand against the ribs. The day yesterday was not as restful as it should have been, now I pay the price for it. My gaze falls aside. The duvet is folded back, the mattress is empty. I sigh and sink back into the pillow. I feel strange.

The door opens quietly and a bomb explodes in my heart, stuffed with panic. I freeze to absolute motionlessness while my self-confidence collapses and my mind goes bonkers. Sirens whine in my head: _Close your eyes! Pretend you're asleep!_

It's too late.Freddie pushes himself in to the door. In his hands he holds a tray with orange juice and cereal. "Darling, I may be a romantic, but unfortunately I can't bake, cook or do anything else with food," he explains to me and sits down on the mattress. "I'm not hungry," I say and I'm almost sorry when I see Freddie's confused look. "Side effect of my pills."

It's the truth, besides, yesterday's pizza is still heavy in my stomach. "Well then, I'll eat alone," Freddie says and begins to do exactly that. Some milk accidentally runs down his chin and I wipe it off. It's a reflex. He freezes and stares at me.

"What is it?"

He clears his throat. "Suppose...the whole bowl would fall over my lap. What would you do?"

"I'd recommend stuffing your shirt and pants in the washing machine before the stains dry up."

"So I'm supposed to have breakfast naked in front of you, darling? Oh you dirty thing!"

I don't imagine it. Absolutely not. How the sunlight would glitter on his naked upper body...Freddie bends over to me. My intestines liquefy, my brain becomes a must. I hate that he has this effect on me. Let's not kid ourselves, I could eat the guy. Right now. Naked, in the club, with milk or without... _Oh. My. God_.

"My ribs hurt. Worse than yesterday. I should take it easy."

His gaze won't let go off me. "You should stay in bed."

I nod. "All day long."

"Someone should take care of you." Freddie's face only hovers centimetres above me. "Someone should kiss every spot on your body."

"C-carefully though."

"Very carefully, dear." He presses his lips into the corner of my mouth. "Tender." Kisses flutter along my jaw to my neck. "Everywhere." His tongue glides over my earlobe. "Until you go insane."

My chest lifts and lowers much too fast. I grab his black slightly curly hair. Brown eyes drill into mine. I loop my arms around his neck and pull him down to me. Not all our kisses that day are cautious. Some are wild and hungry and some are sweet as sugar. They eat painfully into my chest and I don't know if it's the bruised ribs - or a broken heart.

...

It's the next day, I sit with Roger in the small coffee shop on campus and feel numb.

"So, let me summarize briefly: You are discharged from the hospital, texting your _only_ and _best_ friend a lame message that you are well and then you barricade yourself out of reach in the arms of a guy you have no romantic feelings for. Is that right?"

"I only sent one text because you were at uni! Then the battery was dead and the charger was somewhere at home."

"That's not the interesting information, John. I'm talking about Freddie Mercury here. What does this guy have that I don't have? Except for incredibly tight clothes."

"They're not that tight."

"Oh, come on. Every idiot can see his big cock through those pants."

"Roger!"

He shrugs his shoulders. "What? Are you guys together now?"

The tea I drank must have been bad. Everything in my stomach turns. "I don't know. Rather not. No."

"What now? Is this a quiz show? Should I call Freddie as a phone joker?"

I think about my words carefully before I speak them: "Freddie and I are more of a video rental. You know. You borrow whatever you feel like borrowing..."

"And pay a high price for it." Roger plucks a loose thread from his knitted coat. It suddenly claims all his attention. "It's okay to have an open relationship...In case you really want something like that...And in case you don't just do it because the other guy doesn't get involved with anything else...If you fall in love..."

I throw a laugh in between. "I am not in love! If someone has a problem with catching feelings, then it's him."

"Does that mean he likes you?"

"It means, I know what I'm getting myself into." I reach for my backpack under the table. "Freddie sleeps with everyone. He's not exactly known for having steady relationships, is he?"

Roger doesn't interrupt me. He doesn't say a word and only looks at me with sad blue eyes. Suddenly something breaks inside of me."I have no idea why he is like that with me," I shout. "I don't need anyone who is nice to me without being serious! I wish he would just say it. That we have a fuck relationship, only sex and hookups, for a few weeks at the most, and that I better not get used to him. Instead he showers me in compliments and brings me fucking breakfast to bed! Why the hell would he act like that?" It's dead quiet in the café. Strange looks turn away caught. Roger stares at me with his eyes wide open. I let my hair fall in front of my face and grab my backpack. "I have to go. See you tomorrow."

What am I doing? This isn't me.

...

 I sit in the most boring lecture of my life and the girl next to me snores loudly, but nobody seems to mind. I pull my phone out of my pocket on which a message has just appeared. Of course it's Freddie.

**Are you feeling better today? Are we meeting this afternoon?**

My head rolls down my neck and I close my eyes. Freddie and I haven't seen each other for a few days now. We haven't even talked to each other. Which could be due to the fact that I demonstratively left my phone switched off. I shouldn't have a guilty conscience. I mean...The headaches were not even invented. 

**Why do you want to meet.**

I delete the sentence again.

**I have to study.**

That's true, but very harsh...I rewrite the sentence again.

 **Thank you, it's alright. I have to study a lot. Another time.**

I send it off. A minute later, I realize that this wasn't a good idea.

He writes: **I'll see you tomorrow then?**

I answer: **I almost missed a whole week. I have to study. Maybe Friday.**

Freddie: **Tomorrow :(**

Me: **Thursday. This is my final offer.**

Freddie: **:-***

Me: **Is that herpes?**

Freddie: **That's a kiss!**

Me: **Wow.**

Freddie: **:-*****

...

 "I'm not going." I stand outside on the stairs and concentrate on the floor. Roger turns around "What does that mean, you're not going?"

"I can lend you my bass if you don't feel like going home again. It's in the music room," Tim falls in between. Tim Staffel is in Roger's classes and he, Roger and I play music together from time to time. But it was never enough for a band. "Thank you, but I have plans."Roger's and Tim's eyebrows grow expectantly. I sigh and confess it to them. "I'm meeting someone."

"Who?", Tim asks. Roger remains silent.

I hate making mistakes. And if I usually do them, I'm rather quiet and don't have witnesses. So this is very uncomfortable. Why didn't I come up with an excuse? "Freddie." I avoid Roger's gaze.

"Huh? Who is that? Isn't that what this guy is called, with whom you..." He falters. Tim's eyes go wide. Of course Roger had told him. "Him?"

I stay silent.

"What? Really?" Tim laughs. He slams the palm of his hand on my shoulder and I stumble a little from the impact. "You meet up with your one-night stand?! No way!"I wrap my arms around myself. Tim can't stop laughing. "Our little Deaky!"

Roger can't help but smile too. "Is he coming here?" 

I nod.

"Oh please, let me stay. I have to see this! Please!"

"No!" I give Roger a look for help. Roger casually shoves his hands into his jacket and says, "I'd love to see it, too actually." Betrayal! Sometimes I could kill Roger.

"Do we have to hide behind the trees? Or the dumpsters?"

"No, Tim. We are John's friends. We stay by his side." I guess I deserve that.

We wait together. I sink to the steps so that I don't run up and down like a madman. How should I react when Freddie shows up? What if he smiles at me? Reaching out for me? Wants to give me a kiss? My heart is raging. After a while, Roger stops drumming on his knee with his fingers. "Where is he then?" I fiddle my phone out of my pocket. Freddie is 30 minutes late. "He probably won't come." It's supposed to sound indifferent, but it doesn't. Roger looks at me carefully. "Forget him. We go to the music room, okay?" I'm infinitely grateful for him not trying to embarrass me, so I jump up and force a fake smile on my face. "Let's go."They both rise when my phone suddenly starts ringing. I stare at the displayed name and answer. Roger freezes in his movement.

"I'm as good as gone," I inform him.

"Sorry, dear, I got held up." Freddie sighs into the phone. "Can we meet downtown? In the middle?"

"In the middle of what?" Freddies and my apartment are far away from the centre of the city. "Ar the middle of us. At the park. I can be there in twenty minutes."

"I can't do that. I need fifteen minutes to get to the subway alone."

"I'm waiting for you."

I turn away from Roger and Tim and whisper calm but angry: "I should just go now and never see you again, you know..." Silence reigns for several seconds. I wonder if he had hung up. Then I hear his voice crackled rough and mysterious in my ear. "Maybe you should. But then you will never know what surprise I have for you."

...

I get off the subway, breathe deeply in an and out and set myself in motion. I find Freddie at the exit that's leading to the park. He's leaning against a bright red ticket machine that makes his otherwise darker skin look pathologically pale. He looks tousled, which seems strange, as I had only seen him dressed up before, but he smiles as soon as he sees me.

"Hello, darling."

"Hey."

"Are you angry?"

I shrug my shoulders. "The day before yesterday you beg me to see you. Now you can't even get to uni on time. Instead, you send me through half of the city and now you're standing here comfortably, as if it's none of your business." He says nothing. I blink at him. It scares me again and again how much Freddie is getting me out of myself. Before I met of him, I wouldn't have dared to say something like that to anyone. Freddie lowers his head and runs his hand through his raven hair. "It's not my fault I'm late."

"Whose fault is it?"

"John...dear...I had a bad day."

"Why?"

Freddie’s shoulders sink down, quite atypical for his otherwise so extravagant posture, and he doesn't answer. He doesn't even seem to be looking for the right words...he simply remains silent. I turn around and am about to walk back to the subway when Freddie puts a hand on my shoulder. "I don't want to fight."

"We aren't fighting." I shake him off. "We'd have to _talk_ to each other first for that."He stands on his toes so that we can look each other in the eye."There are a few things I don't want to talk about. Okay? Right now everything in my life is going wrong. You're the only positive thing."

"Me? Positive? You must be pretty desperate."

"Or in love."

That wipes all words out of my mouth. I look for the lie in his eyes, but I have no idea how to tell. He puts his hands around my shoulders and as if by itself, I put mine around his hips. My nose presses into his neck, I feel the pulse racing under his skin.

"I missed you," he mumbles into my hair.

This time it is me who is silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'd really love hear some sort of feedback or a simple comment. It keeps me motivated, but no pressure. <3 Thank you all

**Author's Note:**

> Poor John...what’s going to happen now? :)
> 
> Thank you for reading! I always enjoy comments, feedback and kudos.


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